


Deep Waters

by krasnayazorya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Antonio executes a traitor, Drowning, Habsburg Husbands, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, M/M, Unhappy Marriage - Or Is It?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasnayazorya/pseuds/krasnayazorya
Summary: The new world. Antonio had whispered of its wonders into the skin at the inside of Roderich’s wrist as he lay kisses there, drunk on wine. Roderich cared little for his speech, he found anything outside the waters of home unthinkable of, didn’t care for it like the other nation aside from what it could bring him but, oh; Antonio could be convincing.
Relationships: Austria/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Deep Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent Austria character study in the early 16th century. Human names used.

Roderich can’t stand the rocking of the ship. He knows that the other sailors on board find it comforting, a constant movement that lulls them to sleep, but any change in Roderich’s routine always creates that anxious buzz under his skin that won’t leave for hours at a time. But Roderich is not a sailor, nor is he human- his routine has been ingrained in him for centuries, and when the Spaniards get used to the conditions out at sea within days, he won’t find that happening any time soon. He needs to get up, to leave the stifling air of the captain’s cabin. 

_The new world_. Antonio had whispered of its wonders into the skin at the inside of Roderich’s wrist as he lay kisses there, drunk on wine. Roderich cared little for his speech, he found anything outside the waters of home unthinkable of, didn’t care for it like the other nation aside from what it could bring him but, oh; Antonio could be convincing. Not in the same way Roderich was, with his smooth speech and manner, but in a way that endeared, that made Roderich forget about his bursts of cruelty. 

He dresses fast, and quietly. Antonio doesn’t wake up, and that is for the better because then Roderich won’t have to explain himself. He layers up against the cold, slips on the medallion chain, steps out onto the deck. 

Seeing the open sea reels his head for the moment, and he thinks he’ll be sick, but the feeling passes. Just a few decades ago, before their royals tied their lives together, Roderich would have never considered going sailing. It went against his nature; he never lived by open water, he spent his childhood, before his people truly knew who they were, running through the mountains and drinking from clear streams that had definitive banks. 

Hands find the wooden sides, he clutches them tightly, closes his eyes as his face is hit with the sea mist. He thinks he’d rather be back with his queen, dealing with cleaning the streets of Madrid from their constant filth, perfecting the qanat and guiding the sculptors in creating frescoes on the main churches. A sign of their joined faith, the golden children of Europe, with God and the Virgin Mary behind them as they build a new future. 

But all Spain is interested in is sailing, bringing back exotics and then complaining in Roderich’s ear about- about what? About the faithless in Spain. But what can he expect, when he is never there, to begin with? 

There is a sound behind Roderich, and for a second he wonders whether he hadn’t been as quiet as he thought, and he’ll be asked back to bed by Antonio but no, it’s some sailor he’d met during introductions, who’s words he only understood a lick of. No one bothered to teach Roderich conversational Spanish, anything aside from the formalities they used in court. 

He turns for a customary greeting but never manages to get a word out. 

It’s swift; he’s caught off guard. At any other time, he would have been able to overpower the sailor. He’s taller, isn’t wrought exhausted by the day’s work on the ship and yet- he couldn’t have expected it. The scuffle is brief; Roderich heaves a shout, hands find his shoulders and he scrabbles at them, nails scratching, and the next thing he knows is the freezing cold enveloping his body and water pouring into his open mouth. 

His head breaks the surface; he screams again, but barely anything comes out. Fear seizes him, he thrashes and it makes things worse. He never bothered to learn how to swim in places where his feet don’t touch the bottom, and he realises in sheer terror that the seabed is so far below him he will probably die before he reaches it. 

Roderich tries to claw off his heavy jacket, throw off the chain around his neck, but his limbs move too slowly. Of course, he won’t _die_ , he understands that, but what are the chances that they will find him? What if he sinks, and he wakes up a week later still drifting in the open water, only to die again until he washes up _somewhere-_ somewhere where they’ll find him. 

There’s a movement not far from him, a loud splash, and hands are grabbing at his arms, hauling his head out so that he may gasp in a breath- two, three. He’s breathing and his lungs are hacking up cold seawater. 

“Got you.” 

Floating between darkness and light, Roderich registers the shame he feels as he is practically shoved up the ladder that the crew has dropped down. It’s mortification, clogging up his throat in a way that death never could. His cold fingers slip at the ropes and the sailor that had saved him hauls him up by the waist with a huff of breath. 

He’s fussed over, after that. A cup of golden liquid passed into his hand, a blanket thrown over his shoulders once his jerkin had been wrestled off by a pair of hands. Slowly, he comes to. 

“Fall over, did you, Herr Edelstein?” The one who pulled him out asks, taking back the cup from him. Roderich sets his eyes on his face and reminds himself to shower the man with gold, after. Give him a title- anything. If only his hands would work, he would screw off a ring from one of his fingers and give it to him as collateral. 

They all know that’s not it. They may not have the brightest opinions of Roderich, but they know he’s not the type to fall over or to be uncareful in any form. They shuffle their feet, but it’s Antonio who forces them into a line, who lays a hand on Roderich’s shoulder as he goes up to stand beside him.

Took him long enough, Roderich thinks and scowls. If Antonio took this long during the wars against the Ottomans, they would have been done for. 

“Who?” He asks, leaning closer, and Roderich’s eyes sweep over the crowd. 

He’d only seen his face briefly, a fraction of a second before his world turned into a tumble, the sting of salt in his eyes, but he remembers. They pause on him as they flick over the group of sailors, standing with his jaw set and his arms behind his back. He knew he wouldn’t live to see this through, and yet he still went after his moment, just to- what? To get back at Roderich for something? To get back at his queen? Either of these things, but it’s obvious that he’s prepared to die. 

Antonio doesn’t do another other than giving a gesture of his hand, but the man is immediately seized by the others, though it doesn’t seem like he’d been meaning to bolt. A musket is passed into Antonio’s waiting palm from the belt of another sailor, and he gestures with it at Roderich.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Roderich looks at him, disgusted, turns his head away even though he knows it is necessary. This won’t be the first man executed in his name, and it also won’t be the last, but he always hates watching. 

“Suit yourself.”

There’s no scream, but there’s a sick sound, and he winces even though his eyes are turned away to the open sea. He images the blood staining the white shirts of the sailors holding the traitor back. He knows that he isn’t liked by all the Spanish, they think Roderich’s people fickle, barbarians, and Roderich is of a similar mindset. Perhaps his cities aren’t densely populated, but they are, at least, clean. They dress modestly, while those that belong to Antonio don’t, and still call themselves God’s best servants. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Roderich sees Antonio hand the musket back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and indulging this little bit of word vomit!


End file.
